The Virgin's War Read Online Free

never say.
The trick of looking at me with such focus that the rest of the world fades around the edges.
Anne Tudor might be the center of her world, but the Courtenays took self-possession to an entirely new level.
    “I had hoped,” Philippa Courtenay continued, “to have some talk with you of Stephen later. When you are finished with the business of high finance. He writes to you, I understand.”
    “He does.”
    “Why?”
    This was not a woman to be parried with a soft answer. “Why me and not you, do you mean?” Maisie replied. “Because I was in Ireland. Those who have passed through trials together can understand one another in a manner others cannot.”
    To her surprise, Philippa smiled, genuine and open. “You will not mind if I ask you how to better understand my brother?”
    “No, my lady.”
    Princess Anne had managed to subtly hold herself in the background, a skill Maisie imagined she didn’t often employ, but now firmly took back the authority. “Let us sit and discuss my money. And when we are finished, I shall turn my dear Pippa loose on you. If you are as wise with words as you are with finance, that should be quite the conversation.”
    Maisie drew a slightly shaky breath and took the seat Matthew offered her. Discussing money was simple. It was the thought of discussing Stephen that made her pulse flutter.
    The hour that followed was more exhilarating than any Maisie had spent in a long time. Despite her polite protestations, the young Princess of Wales had an astute business mind. She and Matthew Harrington between them grilled her thoroughly, and by the end of the hour they had several new investments planned.
    And then, with apparently artless ease, the princess took Matthew with her and left Maisie and Philippa Courtenay alone. Dressed in dove-grey damask, this youngest Courtenay daughter had her twin’s good looks—sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, hair like dark honey, save for a streak of glossy black that shone like Stephen’s.
    “Lady Philippa,” Maisie said warily.
    “Call me Pippa. Everyone does.”
    Since she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, Maisie simply nodded as though in agreement while silently vowing not to call her anything. And then she waited to be asked uncomfortable questions.
    “Is Stephen ever going to recover from loving his Irish woman?”
    Well, that was rather more uncomfortable than even she had bargained for. “It depends on how you define recovery.”
    A flash of amused respect from Lady Philippa. “I define it as not needing to turn to hard drink or easy women to salve his pain.”
    “Surely your twin can give you more accurate information than I can, seeing as how they are together in France.”
    “But Kit never met Ailis Kavanaugh. You were there. You watched it all happen. And before you tell me that you were far too simple and innocent to understand what was going on…don’t bother. Your pose of childlike blandness does not fool me in the slightest.”
    It had been a long time since Maisie had met an adult who bothered to look behind the masks she wore. Stephen had been the last, and that only briefly and in flashes between his obsession with Ailis. It was something of a relief to shrug her shoulders and answer bluntly. “Your brother is not a man to be broken by anything save his own conscience. Stephen loved Ailis very much. But any chance they might have had vanished the moment her daughter died. It wasn’t his lies or their different religions or political aims that ruined them—it was Stephen himself. He will never forgive himself for young Liadan’s death. I think he believed that walking away from Ailis was his penance for the child’s murder.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.”
    “Stephen will not take refuge in alcohol.” Maisie didn’t dare think about women. What did she know of how men eased their pain in that way? “He will not retreat from the path he has laid before himself—to serve where he can to the